Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Overboard ❯ Chapter 1

Title: Overboard
Author: Justkat2790
Pairing/Characters: Heero/ Duo
Rating: T/PG 13 for non-graphic lime, swearing and mild profanity
Warnings: shounen-ai, humour, fluff
Summary: COMPLETE. Shounen-ai, 1x2. Heero Yuy has a problem And when rich tourist Duo Maxwell loses his memory, Heero finds that he is the answer to all of his prayers. In more ways than one.
Author’s notes: This story was inspired by the Goldie Hawn/Kurt Russell movie Overboard, although not really a fusion, as it is quite different, apart from the basic premise.
It is my entry into the 50k section of the 2005 gwyaoi.org OTP contest, which may be found at: http://www.gwyaoi.org/challenge/2005/entries.php
Disclaimer: Gundam Wing is the property of Bandai, Sunrise and Sotsu Agency. No disrespect is intended to its characters or creators, nor those of the movie Overboard, nor is any money made from this fanfiction.

+++

Chapter 1

Hilde said that they only had one day moored in Darke’s Cove and that if Duo wanted to go ashore with her he’d better make it snappy.

Hilde said that if Duo cut off his stupid plait like a normal person then it wouldn’t take him so long to get ready in the mornings.

Hilde said that Relena was her best friend in the whole world, and that it was very selfish of Duo not to want to meet her.

Hilde said that if Duo’s godfather died of a heart attack, lonely and forgotten, it would be all Duo’s fault, for not visiting.

Duo said that he couldn’t freaking care less what Hilde freaking well thought and that if she didn’t get her freaking butt off the freaking boat this freaking minute he’d freaking well throw her off.



+++



Well freaking well shit.

Duo Maxwell hunched over the polished teak galley table, and frowned into his two soft-boiled eggs and wholemeal toast fingers. Maybe if he got lucky, his incredibly annoying girl… friend… would fall overboard and be lost at sea. He grinned ruefully. As if that ever happened anywhere except in the movies. And even then it was only ever Goldie Hawn, and she had a certified, celluloid knack for getting herself into awkward situations.

Nope.

Nobody was getting lost overboard. Nix. Nada. Bupkiss. He’d just have to patch things up with Hilde.

Damn.

He moodily dipped and chewed, then grabbed reflexively for the table.

The Look Now, swan-like under sail, was a slovenly, fifty-foot pig at anchor. Moored-over, at Darke’s Cove marina, she wallowed in the wash from an outgoing trawler, and Duo’s breakfast tea sloshed over the side of translucent, egg-shell china in sympathy. He made no move to mop it up.

Maybe if he pushed her…



+++



Heero Yuy pushed the button, with extreme prejudice, and glared at the beep.

A message from Relena. Another one. Report to the Headmistress’s office at his earliest convenience. An emergency with the boys, type unspecified. He sighed gustily, running a hand through his already-messy, brown hair, and glared at his mobile phone. It was not convenient.

Sure, his nephews could be a bit of a handful. Probably two handfuls, considering that there were five of them, all under thirteen But they weren’t that bad. And there was always detention.

If he didn’t know better, he’d think that she was stalking him.



+++



After Hilde had gone ashore, Duo rummaged around, and appeared above deck a little later, with a towel, a mug of tea, and the coffee-table book on pre-Raphaelite furniture that Uncle Gerald had sent for his recent twentieth birthday and that he’d been trying to read ever since they set sail ten days ago.

He knelt to arrange everything carefully on a warm patch of deck. Placed his book in the shade, towel in the sun and tea carefully to one side, where it wouldn’t slop on anything, then remained kneeling, motionless; a slim young man, with an impish, face, that just escaped heart-shaped prettiness by the skin of its snub, freckled nose and cheeky grin, large, inquisitive eyes of a striking violet blue, sparkling beneath a spiky tangle of overlong fringe, and, impossibly long, chestnut-brown hair, twisted into a hip-length braid, as reviled by Hilde Schbeiker. Normally, an irrepressibly cheerful young man, with a wicked sense of humour and a delight in practical jokes, but not today. Today, he stared at his book and wrestled with a strong sense of guilt.

He really had planned to go and see Uncle Gerald. The old guy worked right here in Darke’s Cove. At the hospital, but Duo hadn’t bothered to ring ahead, and as it turned out he’d gone on holiday someplace, and the hospital said that he wasn’t due back for four weeks.

Hilde had really hung one on him about that, saying that it was just typical of Duo. He scowled. She could be a major pain in the butt sometimes.

Maybe he’d make a special effort to fly out later in the year and see him. He hated flying but it really was safe 99% of the time. It was just the other 1% that got you… Anyway. Maybe Christmas time. He hadn’t seen him in yonks anyway, but he was a great old dude and had always been pretty cool to Duo. Books in the mail at Christmas time and so on. That Slipknot CD… The phone had rung hot that day. He grinned and then his face saddened. Mom…

And later, in the hospital, and then after the funeral when Duo was on his own, the old guy’d come up to see him sometimes, at term break and so on, when Hilde and all the others had gone home, or yachting, or whatever it was they did, and Duo was stuck at Saint Lucia’s College all on his own, with just the sisters for company. MacDonald’s with Uncle Gerald was the only bit of normal that Duo had had left.

And more than that. Uncle Gerald was his last link with his Mom and Dad. The only one who remembered that Duo was called Duo because he was like a little Solo. Who remembered how Solo got his nick in the first place. Who knew that Solo had been addicted to Jackie Chan movies. That Helen had been scared of spiders, that she liked champagne, that she loved Duo’s hair.

He’d helped Duo with his investments too. And all the other legal bull.

Uncle Gerald had never lied to him. And that counted for a lot, when it seemed as if every other adult around at the time had some skewed idea of what Duo should be doing with himself, and the Maxwell dollars.

And it wasn’t even as if Uncle Gerald was a proper Uncle. Thankfully, or Duo might have been stuck with his nose. Although. Maybe the nose’d be worth it, to feel like he belonged with someone again. However. He was just some old codger who’d been at med-school with Duo’s Mom. Head of the department or something, but said that being called Professor made him feel old. But when Duo had wanted to go on to Design School, he’d been really supportive. Even got him a testimonial from his friend who ran a gallery up-state.

Duo sighed. He would definitely fly back at Christmas. But for now…

He gazed over the handrail across sparkling water, drenching himself in multi-coloured sails and salt-silvered wood, bobbing gulls, a crisp arc of silver sand and thistledown sand pipers, feeling tranquillity soaking into him, redolent with the tang of salt and the scent of sun-warmed varnish.

Peace.

There was just something about water. Such a shame this holiday was almost over. The boat had to be back in four days.

He’d given their Captain the day off. Q had a boyfriend, a local guy, whom Duo had heard about in exhaustive detail all the way down the coast, right down to the way that the guy did his hair. And with no sailing to be done, and, without Hilde here, it was silly to keep him around kicking his heels for hours. So he had the boat to himself. Hours and hours of uninterrupted peace, and quiet, and no Hilde. And it was a glorious day. Hard to believe that it was Autumn, and Winter just around the corner.

Perfect for sunbaking.

Duo stretched like a contented cat, arms joint-poppingly high, then dragged his black t-shirt over his head and dropped it on the deck. Black, the colour of mourning, but today was too nice a day to be sad. He glanced around the harbour, then disappeared from public view behind the handrail, sitting on his towel to wriggle out of his long, black cargo shorts and boxers. Stretching out face-down on the sun-warmed towel, he tossed his hip-length braid of hair out beside him, out of the way, then pillowed his head on his arms, and heaved a contented sigh, feeling the tension that knotted his shoulders uncoiling and slipping away, melting under the sun on his bare skin. The boat rocked him gently, to and fro, tiny waves gurgling and lapping against the hull, in time with the musical clink of halyards against the mast.

Clink. Clink.

To and fro…

Mmm…

This was…total…absolute…


+++


Heave n…thought Heero Yuy grimly…would be a week without being called into school to see Miss Relena Peacecraft-Darlien.

Into the Headmistress’s office.

Hell and damnation. He was twenty. Much too old to be worried about going to the Headmasters’s office, but it still gave him the heebie jeebies anyway. Especially that wooden chair in the corner. Even if old Barton was long gone. Rotten old…

A drawer slammed explosively, with a sound like a loose chair leg being yanked from a chair and smashed against a desk, and Heero almost jumped out of his skin, spinning to face the noise with a furious glare.

While Heero Yuy was kicking his heels in Reception, having left behind a tricky bit of cabinet-making at Dellabosca’s, so that he could wait for the ever-so important Miss Peacecraft-Darlien to get off the damned phone, her extremely annoying and probably evil secretary was searching for his nephews’ file.

Apparently.

And getting way too much enjoyment out of it.

“Hmmm…” She slammed a few more drawers aimlessly, with a carelessly carefree hand.

“Lowe. Lowe…not a common name…”

She grinned mischievously at him, flicking her long, silvery hair over one shoulder.

“Now where could it possibly be? I just can’t think…”

Heero sighed, looking pointedly at the purportedly missing folder, as she pondered theatrically, forefinger pressed to dimpled cheek, then threw up her hands in mock surprise.

“Ohh…there it is!!!”

Blindingly obvious, on her desk, in the Out tray. A distinctive, bright red, rather dog-eared folder, right where she knew that it was.

“Still waiting to be filed from yesterday! Silly me!!!”

Heero glared at her, with the ease of long familiarity. They’d known each other since kindergarten. He decided not to ask her about her fencing.

“Uhh Heero? About my fencing?”

Hell and damnation.

He glared at her. “Get a dog. I’ll give you mine.” He meant it too.

“But He-e-e-ero...” She pouted adorably. To other people. Not to Heero. “If I can get the llama to stay in with the sheep I won’t need a dog. They keep foxes away from the lambs too. I really need the fence fixed. Ple-e-e-e-se Heero? Just once more?”

She peeped up at him, ice-pale eyes flirting through sleepy eyelashes, in a way which most men found irresistible, then grinned at him, knowing very well that Heero was completely immune, but unable to resist flirting anyway. Heero was so cute. That silky, brown hair, and the way it flopped forward over those blue, blue eyes. And even more so, because he was so serious. She sighed. Great body too. All hard, slim muscle.

Perfect.

And such a waste. Poor old, silly old Relena.

“I’m not giving up Heero.” Which was one of the things that he’d always liked about her, her tenacity.

“Oh. By the way…” She examined her long fingernails, buffing back a minute chip. Fencing was murder on your hands. “Miss Relena said to go in as soon as you got here.”

He glared at her, contemplating strangling her with her beautifully groomed hair. She’d kept him here, rabbiting on about her broken fence, when he could have been long gone. Which was one of the things that he’d always not liked about her, her sneakiness.

Human hair had a tensile strength of roughly 60 Mpa. Unless it was bleached. Hmm.

She grinned unrepentantly and made flicking gestures with her hands.

“Go on. Shoo!! Get in there. And don’t look so murderous Heero Yuy. You know she’s always on the phone for hours. She is a girl you know! Oh…and by the way…you owe me five dollars. No hurry.” She waved him away. “You’ll find out.” She smiled at him with sphinx-like inscrutability. Completely irresistible. “And don’t forget the fencing!”

His lips twitched. He’d probably miss her if he strangled her.

“Okay. This afternoon.”



+++



Half a world away it was already afternoon.

Duo’s Uncle Gerald checked his baggage one more time and reflected on the strange powers of coincidence.

He would never have expected to meet young Otto Richter on the north coast of east New Britain, in Talasea airport of all places, which had two Twin Otter flights a week of twelve people each. One minute, Otto was simply the nice, young architect working on the new retirement wing at the hospital. The next he was deftly fielding a runaway piglet from the uncomfortable, moulded plastic seat next to his and working on the very same Foreign Aid project that he was on. A new Medical Centre in Rabaul. Uncanny.

Uncle Gerald checked yet again for insect repellent. Now that Rabaul was buried under cooling lava and mudslides, the mosquitoes and sandflies would undoubtedly be endemic. As would be the malaria. The new Medical Centre should have ample supplies, but it didn’t hurt to be too careful. This was New Guinea after all.

Hmm. Malaria tablets...antibiotic ointment…iodine… Uncle Gerald had one eye on his baggage, the other cocked in beady, bird-like curiosity, indiscriminately cataloguing blood-red betel-nut stains, feet distended with elephantiasis, voices raised in song of curious and alien beauty.

Was that woman going to breastfeed the piglet on the plane?

And was human breast milk higher or lower in butterfat than porcine?



+++



Relena was still on the phone.

Heero’s irritated blue gaze flicked around the room impatiently while he waited. Her bookshelf, desk and windowsill were adorned with a multitude of framed photographs. He glanced at them, wondering if there were any new ones. Most of them he recognised, with a vague twinge of discomfort. Thankfully he wasn’t in any of them.

They were all of Relena.

Relena rescuing animals.

Countless photographs of Relena, and beached whales, oil-coated terns and starved horses. Relena, blonde hair flying, scuttling from a plover’s nest, in the middle of the truck-turning bay at Pioneer cement plant. A newspaper shot of Relena, backed against a tree, confronting three policemen sent to shoot a swooping magpie, which had been terrorising the park. Another, of Relena, picketing that man who made hats out of feral-cat skins, as he opened his latest wildlife sanctuary. And of course, Relena, with countless stray cats and dogs. Relena had rescued a lot of dogs.

Rex The Retriever, the boys’ golden retriever, had been a present from Relena, following headlines where Local Girl Saves Dog In Plunge From Cliff. In actual fact it had been Heero who had plunged from the cliff, reluctantly rescuing Relena from the blackberry bush that she had somehow fallen into, when Rex the Stray had darted unexpectedly after a rabbit. Relena had then bestowed Rex upon Heero as his reward. Not the reward that she would have liked to have given him, but Heero had been pretty sure that the boys would prefer Rex. He was certain that he did.

“Heero!!” Relena slammed down the telephone. “I don’t believe it! Those people from animal rescue say that they can’t take another magpie!”

Heero frowned and opened his mouth.

“I explained that it keeps diving into my kitchen windows and knocking itself out and they just don’t seem to care! They won’t even send someone around to see!”

She paused for breath, her chest heaving and big, blue eyes flashing, in a way that many people would find very attractive, but that Heero recognised immediately as a perfect opening.

“Terrible. Now about Silas and Zac…”

“When will they realise that there can be no such thing as World Peace and Global Harmony while animals are suffering???”

Relena Peacecraft-Darlian was a vocal, animal rights activist and self-appointed animal rescue person. Pinned to the lapel of her jacket was a large, white button with a pink heart on it, which read Animals are human too.

“Never.” Heero ignored her heart, and the chest it was pinned to, and looked her firmly in the eye. “Relena you said that it was an emergency.”

“Oh yes. That.” She fidgeted. “Well it was. Is. If the magpie breaks the window, it might hurt itself.”

“You said that it was about the boys!” He fixed her with a stony glare.

“Oh yes. That. Well…there was a bit of trouble in art class, but the twins cleaned it up. And Zac gave the flag back. And Silas…”

Heero interrupted her ruthlessly. The twins were the most likely culprits. If they were blameless then he was probably home free.

“I see.” He did. Only too well. “And Cody?”

Relena’s brow wrinkled in thought.

“Well there was a fire extinguisher… But Miss Noventa wasn’t entirely sure that… And Sylvia said he’s a bit small to lift…”
“Tyler?”

“Spider.” One word answers were contagious.

“Joe?”

“No-o-o…” ; Which didn’t surprise Heero. Whichever of the Lowe boys it might be, it was never 13-year old Joe, the eldest, and Heero’s right-hand nephew.

“So. You don’t need me.” It wasn’t a question.

“Umm…” She looked at him triumphantly. “The twins forgot their lunch money!” She beamed at him. “But it was all right. I gave them some lentil patties. I had plenty. No one else wanted any today.”

Ahh. The five dollars.

Heero sighed, his face carefully blank. “Thank you Relena. Well if there’s nothing else…”

Relena smiled fondly at the fast-closing door. It was just so sweet, the way that Heero would drop everything and rush to help, whenever she needed him.

A perfect boyfriend.



+++



A perfect stuff-up.

Heero sighed.

That was it. It was official. Today was completely and utterly stuffed.

When he’d woken this morning, to un-seasonal` Autumn sunshine, he’d decided to knock off early and take the boys down to the beach for a kick of footy and, maybe, the last swim of the year. Nice plan.

It was all downhill from there.

First, Relena had dragged him into the school for no reason, leaving him an hour behind schedule, so that the varnish wasn’t dry on Dellabosca’s bar.

Then, that bossy, little, blue-haired girl who’d tracked him down outside the school, had insisted that Heero fix the broken cupboard door on her hired yacht today, so that she could set sail the instant she returned from wherever it was that she was going. So here Heero was, with his toolbox crammed to overloading with every power-tool known to man, because she’d been infuriatingly vague about what was actually wrong with the door, standing on the end of the marina, looking for a yacht, to fix it today.

Not that it was hard to spot. It was late in the season for tourist yachts, and at this time of day all the fishing trawlers were out. There was only one large yacht moored at the pier, a swan amongst the gaggle of motorboats and dinghies, but he checked the name on the bow anyway. It never hurt to check. Look Now. Yes that was it. A schooner-rigged motorsailer. 46 footer by the look of it.

He opened his mouth to hail the Look Now then remembered that that girl had said that the crew had the day off. Well good. No interruptions. If he finished up quick maybe there would still be time for the beach.

Such a shame. It really was hot for Autumn. It would have been a great beach day. He dragged the back of his hand across his sweaty forehead and decided that, with the crew gone, there could be no harm in stripping off his heavy, blue, work shirt. Feeling instantly cooler, he mopped his face with it then crammed it into his full-to-bulging toolbox and headed up the gangplank, his old, yellow sneakers soundless on the silvered timber.

He wandered quietly around the wheelhouse, looking for the companionway.

And came to an abrupt halt, toolbox in hand.

There was a girl on the port deck.

Sunbaking.

Naked.



+++

< br>
Three blocks away from the beachfront, where nudity sometimes happened in Darke’s Cove, although not usually in Autumn, and not usually where people could see, Joseph Thorvald Hitori Lowe herded his four brothers together like a small flock of chickens, and shuffled them under his wing into the Darke’s Cove Community Hospital Casualty Department.

Not quite lined-up in order of age, from five-year old Tyler to 11-year old Zac and Silas, but, at least, massed in one place and jostling in the same direction.

Past the little gaggle of nurses, all smoking around the corner because nursing, whilst being a Caring Profession was also a stressful one, and worse now that it was No Smoking In The Workplace, and past the phone-in-a-crossed-circle that meant No Mobile Phones on pain of your heart stopping…or something…and in through the double swing doors.

Joe had been here before and knew the drill by heart.

“Hey Joe!” The Duty Nurse twinkled at him, her smooth red curls bouncing merrily. “Where’s Heero?” Then she spotted Cody hovering behind him, holding a blood-stained, stripy tea-towel to his forehead, and her grin grew rueful. “Oh oh. What is it this time? No. Don’t tell me. I can see.”

Joe frowned. This wasn’t funny. It was annoying. “Cody.” He gestured at the guilty party. “Needs stitches.”

“Oh pooooor baby! Again?!?? Here. Show me.” She smoothed Cody’s short, spiky brown hair off his forehead, lifting the cloth so that she could see the cut. “Oh dear…”

Joe sighed. Baby???? Sheesh. “He was running for the bus and fell over…”

“No I didn’t! Tyler pushed me!!”

“Did not!!!”

“…and fell over and hit his head…”

“Did too!!!”

“Did not!!!”

“…on the step. SHUT UP you two or I swear I will kill you!!!”

“Did.” Very quietly.

The nurse bit her lip, hard and glanced away. Joe was so much like Heero sometimes that it wasn’t funny. When she could speak again, she gestured them into a consulting room to wait, and turned to Tyler, deciding that distraction, not discretion, was the better part of valour. “So hows the arm Cutiepie?”

Tyler glared one last time at Cody. Didn’t. “It’s okay.” He waved it around by way of demonstration.

“Ooh careful…careful…you don’t want to break it again Hon. Now…what was it you did again? I forget.” She ruffled Tyler’s hair playfully. “Jumping off the roof with an umbrella?”

Zac stared at her pityingly, from the safety of the other side of the room. “No. That was the first time. Last time was when he fell out of bed.”

Cody poked his tongue out at Tyler. Did. “You are such a baby Tyler. Fancy falling out of bed!”

Tyler glared at him then decided that he was beat fair and square. Huge tears welled up in his enormous, blue eyes and trickled slowly down his cheeks. He sobbed experimentally

“Ohhh…nooo…here Sweetiepie…come here.” Their kind-hearted angel of mercy opened her arms and gathered Tyler to her, stroking his golden curls gently and crooning softly. Tyler was such a cutie. “There…there…”

The twins made puking and vomiting gestures behind her back, while Tyler glared at Cody over her shoulder. Didn’t. Cody stuck out his tongue. Did.

Eventually Tyler couldn’t stand it any more and swiped at Cody, who grinned triumphantly and threw a balled-up rubber glove at him. Tyler’s nurse quickly let him go.

“Okay. And…uh…” She floundered for a change of subject then turned, to peer at one of the twins doubtfully. They were making wildly-hilarious, rubber-glove cows’ udders in the corner. “…Silas? Are you okay now? No problems from the Draino?”

“Zac.” Zac looked at her scathingly.

“Pardon?”

“I’m Zac. And it was food poisoning. Silas was Draino.”

“Oh. That’s right. I remember now.” She glanced at the door, wondering where in the name of goodness the Doctor on Call was. Admittedly Casualty could be a circus sometimes, but it was unusually quiet today.

“So Joe…” She glanced down at her fingernails. “I suppose Uncle Heero’s working today hmm? How is he? I haven’t seen him for ages.”

The twins rolled their eyes at each other behind her back. Ladies were always asking how Heero was. Even quite old ones...like…twenty-three and twenty-four. It was just gross.

At that moment, the door to Consulting Room Two opened, and the boys were spared any more grown-up conversational gambits, by the comforting routine of local anaesthetics, stitches, and if-he-goes-to-sleep-and-won’t-wake-up-bring-him-in-straight-away. And lollypops.

It was such a relief.

Even the green ones.



+++



As the door to Consulting Room Two slammed closed, the nice, new lady doctor stared thoughtfully after the five Lowe boys, tugging absently at one of her loose, blonde plaits, and then turned back to the thick manila folder on the desk. She helped herself to the last red lollypop from the jar, and then leafed through the folder carefully, sucking luxuriously. Only another five hours until her break.

Goodness. Just as she’d thought. Two broken arms…stitches…head trauma consistent with impact at speed…concussion…She turned a page…broken finger… poisoning…severe burn…food poisoning… She checked the dates again, her brows knotting together. Unbelievable. All in the last two months… Kids were accident prone, especially boys, but still… This really should have been looked into.

The notes said that the Lowe boys lived with their Uncle and sole guardian, a Mr. Heero Yuy. Hmm…

The consulting physician was most likely Doctor McGee. She flicked back through the thick sheaf of paper, noting the scrawled capital G at the bottom of the pages. Yes. It was. He was old, and maybe a little bit neglectful, but that was really no excuse. It wasn’t as if it was difficult.

Her duty of care didn’t leave her any choice. Any hint of child abuse or neglect had to be checked. She pushed the folder away from her decisively and settled the lollypop out of the way inside her cheek, reaching for the phone.

It never hurt to be too careful.

It wasn’t difficult at all.



+++



Shit!

Could it get any more difficult?

Heero Yuy stood rooted to the deck of the Look Now, holding his breath.

There was a girl, sunbaking naked on the port deck.

The damned crew was supposed to be out! He huffed in frustration and started to breathe again, his heartbeat slowing to normal. Luckily the girl hadn’t heard him. She seemed to be comfortably asleep, face down on a towel, with her head pillowed on folded arms and her long, brown plait snaked on the deck beside her. His lips twitched at the sound of gentle snores. Very comfortably asleep. Lucky her. Nice work if you could get it.

He thought for a moment, his eyes politely averted. It was a shame to disturb her, but he really needed to get past her to reach the companionway. He decided to sneak back around the wheelhouse out of sight, and then crash and bang about a bit to wake her up.

He edged carefully backwards, sliding his feet behind him, foot by foot. He was almost there, when his foot brought up short in a loose byte of rope and he stumbled, catching himself with his free hand on the railing. As if in slow motion, his power drill, which had been precariously balanced on top of the toolbox, overbalanced and fell to the deck with the shattering sound of fifty-six dollars going down the gurgler.

Damn. He glared at it. It was the little plastic Matika. He hoped that he hadn’t cracked the casing.

The girl jerked awake with a small shocked sound, and leapt to her feet, whirling to face him, her eyes wide and confused.

“What the bloody hell…?!?!?”

It wasn’t a girl.

Heero’s feet were suddenly rooted to the deck, drill forgotten.

It was a boy. Man. Boy-man. The most edible young man that he had ever seen.

Completely and bouncingly naked, with his hands fisted on his slim hips, a gold cross around his neck and the biggest bluest…no…not blue…violet…most striking eyes and…

Heero couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t for the life of him stop his eyes from drifting up and down…and down…and down…down that slim, supple body, sliding over creamy, lightly tanned skin, feasting on smooth, lickable, planes of chest…the delicious, caramel ripples of stomach…lean, muscular thighs… ohh… toffee-coloured curls and…

Oh damn.

Don’t look.

He had to look.

Don’t look don’t look don’t…

He wrenched his eyes back up.

Those unforgettable violet eyes blazed at him, laden with annoyance and embarrassment and…some…thing.

He should say something. He forcibly closed his mouth, which was hanging open, then opened it again, but no sound came out. He swallowed hard.

“I…”



+++



“…what the…?!?”

Duo stood rooted to the chalky spot where Q had spilt undercoat this morning, and they hadn’t been able to clean it up properly, and glared at the stranger who’d barged onto his boat. His chest heaved with angry words, but confronted with spellbound silence, it was suddenly impossible to speak. He felt his fury oozing away like water through his fingers, and his outraged yelp died half-uttered in his throat.

He stared back.



+++



Relena Peacecraft-Darlian was feeding a baby starling with an eyedropper when the phone rang. Frowning, she glanced around the room, hands full, and then dropped bird and dropper into her jacket pocket, so that she could pick up the phone.

“Relena Peacecraft-Darlien speaking.”

On the other end of the phone was a rather unfriendly-sounding lady from the Child Welfare Department, with several impertinent questions about Heero Yuy. Relena quickly set her straight.

“Heero is a wonderful…wonderful…person. Uncle. Nothing is too much trouble for those boys. And it isn’t easy. I mean…they’re completely wild. And he does it all on his own. Always has. No support whatsoever. Sometimes…” She mock-pouted into the phone, rolling her eyes. “…sometimes I wonder if he has a guilty secret. He tries so hard to keep me away!!” She giggled at the absurdity of that, and then sighed. “What he really needs is someone to help him. To be there when he has to leave the boys alone…to be there at nights. I mean…I would be happy to help out at nights of course…” Relena became lost in dreamy contemplation of helping Heero out at nights. Sitting together on the couch when the boys had gone to bed…

“… out at nights?” The woman on the other end of the phone was saying something.

…the lights turned down low…candles…yes definitely candles…scented ones…rose or jasmine…

“…mmm…yes…all the time. Whenever he wants.”

There was a brief silence on the other end of the phone, broken only by faint scribbling noises.

Relena recollected herself guiltily. She was supposed to be helping Heero, not daydreaming. She directed her most convincing tone at the mouthpiece.

“Heero is really just a truly, wonderful person. And so helpful with my rescues. I’m an Animal Activist you know.” Relena lightly polished her Animals are Human Too button, with a fond fingertip. “And not just anyone can do it. I mean…Animal Activism is demanding work. We get called away at any hour of day or night. And so emotionally draining. Heero got very upset during our last rescue.”

She settled herself more comfortably into her chair, wiggling a shoe off and rubbing her stockinged foot against her calf. …Oooh…that felt better…

“…boys make him upset?”

“What? Oh yes. All the time.” Wasn’t this woman listening? She’d just said that rescues made him upset.

Oops-a-daisy. The fledging had managed to scramble half out of her pocket and was poised on the brink of its first, and possibly only, flight. Relena squeaked in dismay and tucked it carefully back into her pocket, missing half of the woman’s question

“…upset with the boys?”

She frowned, slightly puzzled. What was that? Did he go with the boys? On Rescues?

“Well… sometimes. He’d rather the boys weren’t there of course… Sometimes things can get quite violent.” The baby starling wiggled in her pocket and she patted it affectionately, making it suddenly go quiet. And still

“…he might hurt them?”

“Hmm? Oh definitely.”

Heero was always worried that a stray animal might hurt his boys. Rescues could be dangerous. Panicked animals, hysterical pet-owners…

“He is always worried about it, especially Tyler. I mean…sometimes things can get out of hand. People don’t realise how things can just blow up instantly! I mean…I teach at the school. I see it all the time. Especially with young ones. Before they’re trained you know…”

She looked sadly out of the window, across the school’s playing field to the showground, where old Duke and Young Duke Dermail were whipping two of their young trotters around the oval track, a classic example of Man’s Inhumanity to Animal. Just last week a green colt had shied then started bucking, and Relena had had to rush over to assist. Young Duke had ended up being run down by the sulky. Terrible.

There were more writing sounds from the phone, and Relena took advantage of the break to change the phone to her other ear and to wriggle off her remaining shoe. Mmm…bliss. Where was she? Oh… “Just like our last case…”

She stopped and pulled the phone away from her ear, looking at it strangely.

“Cody? No…Cody wasn’t there. He’d hurt his hand. It was a poor, neglected pony…I mean completely starved of human contact…bolted when I tried to catch it…just panicked at the first sight of a human you know. Probably because the owner turned up and started yelling.” She shook her head sadly. “Some people have no idea. Somehow it managed to get into a greenhouse. Poor creature got its hoof stuck in a pottery flowerpot. Heero had to smash the flowerpot so that he could get its hoof out. He took his shirt off because the sprinklers were on. So that it wouldn’t get wet…” Again, Miss Peacecraft-Darlien trailed off into dreamy silence, only to be rudely interrupted by the voice on the phone.

“…bone was completely crushed. Could he could have done that?”

Relena smiled brightly. Silly woman. It was only a flowerpot! Of course he could have! Heero was sooo strong!

“Oh definitely. He’s sooo strong! It was no trouble at all. He smashed it completely. With a shovel. I saw him.”

There was another, longer, silence from the phone, followed by more frantic scribbling, and then at last the woman returned, thanked her rather coldly for her help and hung up abruptly.

Relena smiled with satisfaction. It was a wonderful feeling to help someone, which was why Animal Rescue was so satisfying. And when the person being helped was Heero, it was even better.

She placed the receiver back on its hook, humming happily to herself, and reached into her pocket for the motionless baby starling. Ughhhh…bird poo…

Oh.

Dear. Oh dear.

She looked down sadly at the little, feathered corpse in her hand. Baby birds were sooo difficult to raise. They always seemed to respond badly to the formula for some reason.



+++



Duo Maxwell was not gay.

He knew that for a fact. How could he be gay? He didn’t like guys that way. He’d been with Hilde since they were kids in boarding school for crissakes, and even before then they’d always looked out for each other, at tennis lessons and such like.

And besides. It was a mortal sin. Any good Catholic could tell you that, even a lapsed, non-practising, unbelieving one, who’d protested against church involvement in Latin America, and tickled Hilde in Mass.

So he wasn’t gay. Un-guilty as proven. Quad erat demonstratum.

Bless me Father for I have Sinned. Not.

It was just that this other guy was so …beautiful…there was no other word for it, that Duo just had to look at him.

He was a painting come to life…Francisco Goya probably…all messy, bitter chocolate hair and flashing eyes, and staring wide-eyed at his doom in Duo’s hands.

Ob-viously gay. Unlike Duo who was not.

But still, Duo couldn’t take his eyes from the rippling muscles of the other’s chest, his shoulders, the kind of lean, sinewy muscle that whispered seductively of hard, sweaty, physical labour, and lots of it, the look in his intense blue eyes as he edged closer. The shock slowly fading to a small smirk of appreciation. Duo’s mouth was suddenly dry and he swallowed hard.

Water, water everywhere and he was drowning in a sea of cobalt.

Maybe it was just because he could smell him; sweaty and warm and wanting Duo, all mixed with the salty tang of the sea. He was suddenly overwhelmingly conscious of the warm smell of smooth, bare skin, his own and this boy’s, just an arms length apart, just one stumbling step all that it would take to bring them sliding slickly together.

Maybe it was the wanting Duo part. Normally, at least in Duo’s, admittedly meagre, boarding school experience, there was an element of pretence. Eyes slid away, boisterous voices were just a little bit too unconcerned. But right here, right now, Duo just knew that he was wanted more desperately than he’d ever been wanted before. And by somebody who could obviously have anyone that he wanted,

Maybe it was simpler than that. Maybe it was just the way that the age-whitened denim clung to those muscular thighs. Involuntarily Duo’s eyes tracked the thin line of dark hairs from his navel and down into the loose waistband of those work-worn jeans, where they caught on his hips and…

Duo felt an instant of blind panic. He wasn’t gay. He was not gay. He was not gay. It was the other boy.

The other boy was still staring at him, blues eyes reeling him in, so that Duo had to cling to the handrail like a lifeline to convince himself that he wasn’t moving, gasping like a landed fish.
.
He could feel himself blushing, the hot blood suffusing his face, the dull, angry flush spreading down his neck, his chest until every part of him tingled and burned under that silent scrutiny
.
He was not gay…but…

…despite himself he felt his body responding to those burning blue eyes, every hair standing on end as the salty breeze struck goose flesh from his overheated skin, his nipples…

Involuntarily he stepped backwards, coming up hard against the gunwale, the back of his bare thighs colliding with the handrail in a shock of electrifying cold.

Galvanised.

Duo suddenly remembered that he was stark, raving naked and whirled away from those demanding eyes, scrambling for his long, black shorts and struggling into them in a flustered windmilling of arms and legs.

He’d stepped outside the chalk.

The spell was broken.

Anything could happen.

Duo choked on a breath of humid, salty air, which seemed suddenly too thin to sustain life, and panicked into angry speech.

“What …what…the bloody hell do you think that you’re doing just wandering onto my boat like this? This is private property. I suggest you piss off right now before I throw you off.”

Abruptly, shutters blanked down over the other’s eyes, and the warm, blue cord of possibility binding them together was cut, leaving Duo curiously bereft.

The other boy’s face froze into an icy mask of disdain and he spat words at Duo like discarded fish bones.

“I’m the carpenter.”

Carpenter?!?

Carpenter...

R 30;oh bloody hell! Hilde had mumbled something about cupboard doors or some such rubbish before she’d stomped off.

SHIT! Shitshitshitshitshit…

Duo floundered, wallowing in embarrassment. He wrapped his arms around his chest, trying to draw his righteous anger back around him like a cloak.

“Well that’s still no excuse!!! You could have hailed…or knocked...or something!!! And…and… Shouldn’t you have a uniform or something? If you’re going to be a professional you could at least try and act like one!”

Inwardly he cringed. Shit. What was this rubbish coming out of his mouth?!?

Duo’s new carpenter blinked and then his face reddened with annoyance. “I’m a carpenter not your damned butler. I’ll wear what I damned well please and if you don’t like it you can shove it.”

“How the hell am I supposed to know you’re the carpenter when you don’t even wear a bloody shirt? How unprofessional can you get?!! Where’s your freaking name tag???!”

Duo’s mouth was still, apparently, on auto-pilot. He looked away desperately and swallowed, trying to ignore all that tanned, gleaming, stubbornly-uncovered skin. If only Carpenter-boy wasn’t so good-looking. If only he didn’t smell so good. If only he’d just put a damned shirt on…

“Geezus! Just put a damned shirt on!!! How hard can it be?!!!”

Carpenter-boy glared frostily at Duo and spoke slowly and succinctly.

“Fuck. Off.”

“Put your freaking shirt on!!!”

“No!!”

“Yes!!!”

Carpenter-boy’s face darkened to a dull, angry, red. Only his nostrils flared whitely, the only motion in his coldly, furious face.

“Mis-ter Schbeiker…”

“It’s Maxwell asshole! Dew-oh. Max-well.”

“Well listen Duo Maxwell-Asshole. Nobody tells me what to do!!!!”

“Newsflash asshole!!! My boat…my rules!!! Put your freaking shirt on!” Duo’s finger poked that tanned muscular chest, hard, completely without Duo’s permission. He looked at it, vaguely horrified.

“Newsflash! Ass-hole!!!” The chest, and its finger, poked back viciously. “You can keep your damned boat!”

Small droplets of sweat glistened on his carpenter’s collarbone and in the hollow of his neck. Duo looked quickly away, licking his lips.

“Geezus! What is your problem?! Just put your freaking shirt on for crissakes!” He stooped and snatched up the dark blue, work shirt, where it had tumbled out of the toolbox and flung it at him, with a crack of flapping fabric.



+++



The swift movement caught Heero unawares, the stiff fabric stinging a line across his face then falling neatly to the deck. Eyes blazing, he snatched up Duo’s own shirt from the deck.

“Put your own damned shirt on if you’re so worried about it!!”

He shoved it hard at Duo, catching him on the shoulder and barging him backwards against the railing.

“Get your filthy faggot hands off me!!!” Duo, incandescent with fury and lost to all sense, shoved back, hard. But not hard enough to shake the immovable Heero Yuy, who merely rocked back on his heels and glared icily at him, his face only a breath away, the spark in his blue eyes lighting a fuse deep within Duo. Duo’s blazing confusion swirled and climbed, and erupted in a glorious explosion of anger. He leaned in and shoved again, two-handed.

“And keep your freaking eyes in your freaking head ’cause I’m not freaking gay! And even if I was I wouldn’t be freaking-well interested!!”

“Not gay. Yeahhh. Right!” The words dropped like stones from Heero’s frozen lips, weighted with sarcasm, and icy with anger and unacknowledged disappointment. “I wasn’t the one with the hard-on Mr. Duo Freaking Maxwell!!!!”

Duo froze, suddenly a trapped, hunted creature, his hands still pressed against Heero’s chest. He looked up at Heero, violet eyes grown huge in his shocked face, shaking his head mutely in denial. No.

Oh no. Not again! Heero had suffered for another’s unacknowledged desires before. He felt a surge of fury. Felt long ago eyes following him, Heard again those not-so-secret whispers that it was all Heero Yuy’s fault.

It was too much. Heero had exposed himself in a way that he hadn’t in a very long time. Felt as if all his buried desires and longings were burned into his naked skin for the world to see, and he’d be damned if he let Duo Maxwell get away with anything less than complete honesty.

In a single, violent movement Heero crashed into him, determined to prove him wrong, slamming him against the handrail, pinning his face between his hands and kissed him savagely, lips mashing against teeth, hot mouth and lips and tongue everywhere, wet and voracious and insistent.

Duo gasped in shock, his treacherous mouth opening to let Heero in, hot and irresistible.

Taken by surprise, his mind blanked, eyes drifting closed, and for a single dreaming instant Duo Maxwell’s body responded instinctually, a pliant, willing thing, bending backwards to the will of Heero Yuy. Moulding itself to Heero’s. His breath, Heero’s breath. Tongue to tongue, burning skin against burning, sweat-dewed skin.

Heero’s thigh homed between his and somebody moaned, a strangled, animal sound.

And then from somewhere nearby, came the wooden bump of oars against rowlocks, and the sound of voices carrying across the water, drifting straight to Duo.

Oh God. He was kissing another boy. Anyone could see.

Bless me Father for I have sinned.

Duo’s fingers twitched from Heero’s hair as if burned and he wormed his hands frantically up against Heero’s chest. With a single panicked heave he broke free and stumbled backwards, gasping for breath and scrubbing the back of his hand across his lips.

“Fuck!!” Chest heaving, he spat the words, boiling up unbidden from the cauldron of confusion that toiled and bubbled in his gut. “Get the hell off me!!! And get the fuck off my boat!”

Heero jerked in response and made some small, choked sound, his white face freezing into a mask of impenetrability, his eyes, blue chips of ice.

His eyes tore themselves from Duo and, without looking at him again, he turned on his heel. Picked up his toolbox. Silently marched down the gangplank, back slowly stiffening and shoulders bracing themselves against some invisible burden. Refused to look back at Duo.

For some inexplicable reason that rankled desperately, and Duo had a sudden overwhelming desire to get one last reaction from Heero Yuy.

The blue cotton-drill work shirt caught his eye, the source of so much ire, now crumpled and forgotten.

He bent down and snatched it from the deck, balling it rapidly. “And take your freaking shirt…” His arm arcing back in a pitcher’s stance. “…with you!!!”

The heavy, balled-up shirt arrowed from Duo’s hand with deadly accuracy, slowing and unfurling as it flew, to drop neatly over Heero’s head, blindfolding him completely.

A gasp, a misstep in the sudden, dark blue cotton dimness, and Heero Yuy was stumbling sideways off the gangplank, the toolbox dragging him like an anchor to the bottom of Darke’s Bay.

“Ohmifreakingod…”